Page 25 of Demon Daddy’s Hidden Daughter (Demon Daddies #8)

RHYEN

T he New Solas Training College rises before me like a fortress of white stone and gleaming spires, its architectural perfection a stark contrast to the violence churning in my chest. I fold my wings and drop onto the main courtyard with enough force to crack the marble beneath my boots.

Several junior cadets scatter like startled birds, their faces pale with shock at seeing their commander land like an avenging angel in their midst.

I don't spare them a glance. My focus narrows to a single point—finding Thalor and getting my daughter back.

The main halls echo with my footsteps as I stride through corridors I know as well as my own home.

Students and instructors press themselves against the walls as I pass, sensing the barely leashed fury radiating from every line of my body.

My hand rests on my sword hilt, fingers twitching with the need to draw steel and paint these pristine walls with blood.

But I force myself to think like the tactical commander I used to be. Thalor is smart, calculating. He wouldn't keep Ava in the main halls where anyone could stumble across them. No—he'd want somewhere private, somewhere he could hold her without being caught.

The back administrative corridors. Of course.

Thalor always preferred the shadows, even in the war.

My wings twitch with the urge to take flight again, to cover ground faster, but these halls are too narrow.

Instead, I lengthen my stride, each step carrying me closer to whatever confrontation awaits.

The scent hits me first—Ava's unique blend of innocence and that faint undertone that's become as familiar to me as breathing. She's here. Close. My muscles coil with anticipation, every warrior instinct sharpening to a knife's edge.

Then I hear it—a tiny whimper that sounds like it's being muffled.

The sound drives straight through my chest like a blade, and I have to grip the wall to keep from running blindly forward.

Ava never whimpers. She laughs and chatters and occasionally cries when she's hurt, but she doesn't make small, frightened sounds like a cornered animal.

The bastard has terrified my little girl.

I round the corner, following the sound until I kick open a door, and there he is—Thalor Keshin in all his cold, perfect glory.

He's hidden in one of the offices, his jet-black hair pulled into that ridiculous warrior's braid, pale green eyes glittering with satisfaction.

And there, clutched against his chest like a trophy, is my daughter.

Ava looks so small in his arms, her thick black curls disheveled and her violet eyes wide with fear. There's a hand pressed over her mouth—his hand, keeping her quiet with casual cruelty that makes me see red around the edges of my vision.

Thalor's face is expressionless. "Rhyen." He sounds almost disappointed. "I told you I was going to handle this. You couldn't leave well enough alone?"

Every muscle in my body screams for action. I want to launch myself forward, to rip him apart with my bare hands for daring to touch her. But Ava is right there, pressed against his chest, and one wrong move could hurt her.

So I force myself to stillness, to the cold calculation that once made me a formidable commander. My voice comes out steady, almost conversational.

"Let her go, Thalor."

"I don't think so." He shifts his grip, and I catch the subtle way Ava flinches.

The sight sends another wave of rage through me, but I keep my expression neutral.

"This little abomination has corrupted you long enough.

It's time she's removed from our city where she never even belonged.

I won't hurt her." I hold in the growl that he is and I'll kill him for it.

"I'm being humane all things considered. "

Nothing about this is humane. And nothing I'll do to him as a result will be either.

Before I can respond, Ava's eyes find mine over his restraining hand. The fear there nearly undoes me, but then I see something else—recognition, hope, absolute trust that I've come to save her.

And then she does something that stops my heart entirely.

"Daddy!" The word bursts from her despite his hand, muffled but unmistakable. "Daddy, I knew you'd come!"

The world tilts sideways. She called me daddy. My fierce, beautiful little girl just claimed me as hers in front of the enemy, and the surge of love and fierce protectiveness that follows nearly drives me to my knees.

But this isn't the time for sentiment. This is the time for action.

I catch her eyes and give the slightest nod—our signal from countless games in the garden. Her expression shifts, fear giving way to the bright intelligence I've come to adore. She knows. She's ready.

"Well, sweetheart," I say, my voice taking on the playful tone I use during our training sessions. "Looks like it's time for one of our special games."

Thalor's brow furrows in confusion, but Ava's eyes light up with understanding. She knows exactly which game I mean—our version of hide and seek where she practices escaping and finding cover.

"Remember the rules?" I ask, taking a careful step forward.

She nods against Thalor's restraining hand.

"Good girl. Ready?" Another step. "Five."

Thalor's grip shifts as he tries to understand what's happening. I can see him starting to realize this is some kind of signal, his pale eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Four."

Ava goes perfectly still in that way she's learned, gathering herself like a tiny spring.

"Three."

"What the fuck are you—" Thalor starts to speak.

My magic begins to gather, power crackling along my skin in preparation.

"Two."

"Stop this ridiculous?—"

Ava's muscles tense.

"One."

I move like lightning given form, like every storm that's ever torn across the sky.

Magic erupts from my hands in a concentrated blast aimed at Thalor's left side—the side not holding my daughter.

The force of it slams into him with enough power to crack the stone wall behind him, and his grip on Ava loosens as he staggers.

She doesn't hesitate. My brilliant, brave little girl twists free and bolts like a lunox escaping a predator, her small legs carrying her toward the doorway I came through. She disappears around the corner in a flash of dark curls and violet fabric, exactly as I'd hoped.

Now there's nothing between me and the bastard who dared to touch her.

Thalor recovers faster than I'd expected, whirling to face me with fury written across his perfect features. His own magic flares—ice-blue and cold as his bloodline, the power of old nobility and ruthless breeding.

"You've finally lost your mind," he snarls, ice crystallizing in the air around his hands. "Defending that demon spawn will only?—"

I don't let him finish. My fist connects with his jaw with enough force to snap his head back, and I feel the satisfying crack of bone beneath my knuckles. He stumbles but doesn't go down, bringing his hands up in a gesture that sends shards of ice flying toward my face.

I deflect them with a barrier of golden energy, then press forward with the relentless advance that once made enemy forces scatter before me. This isn't a duel between gentleman warriors. This is vengeance, pure and simple.

Thalor tries to create distance, backing down the corridor while weaving defensive spells. But I'm faster, stronger, and fueled by a father's rage. I grab him by the throat and slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the stone.

"She's four years old," I growl, my grip tightening until his pale skin begins to mottle. "A child who's never hurt anyone in her life."

He manages to get his hands up, sending another blast of magic into my chest. The impact drives me back a step, but I keep hold of him, my fingers digging into his throat.

"Demon—blood," he gasps, his perfect composure finally cracking. "Corrupting—everything?—"

I slam him against the wall again, and this time I hear his skull crack against the stone. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but his pale green eyes still burn with hatred.

"She's mine," I snarl, pouring every ounce of love and protectiveness into those two words. "My daughter. And you put your hands on her."

The magic that erupts from me then is unlike anything I've ever channeled before. It's not the controlled power of a trained warrior, but something primal and devastating. Golden energy wraps around Thalor like chains of fire, burning through his defenses as if they were made of paper.

He screams—a high, thin sound that echoes off the corridor walls. His own magic flickers and dies as my power overwhelms him, cooking him from the inside out. I feel his ribs crack beneath my grip, feel his windpipe collapse under the pressure of my fingers.

And I feel nothing but cold satisfaction as the light fades from his pale green eyes.

Thalor Keshin drops to the floor like a discarded doll, his perfect features now slack and lifeless. Blood pools beneath his head where it struck the stone, and his chest doesn't rise.

I should feel something—regret, perhaps, or the weight of having killed a former colleague. Instead, I feel only the bone-deep certainty that justice has been served. He threatened my family. He terrified my daughter. He got exactly what he deserved.

But there's no time to savor the victory. I have someone far more important to find.